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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25366474">this slim, horrible chance</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/beelzebubble_tea/pseuds/beelzebubble_tea'>beelzebubble_tea</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Fusion, Angst, Family Bonding, Gen, Percy Weasley-centric, Sibling Bonding</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 09:15:46</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,784</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25366474</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/beelzebubble_tea/pseuds/beelzebubble_tea</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Percy only has to survive two more Reapings before he can follow his dream of becoming the best software engineer in District Three, and as one boy among thousands, he surely has nothing to worry about.</p><p>The odds—seldom in his favor—have other ideas.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Fred Weasley &amp; George Weasley &amp; Percy Weasley, Ginny Weasley &amp; Percy Weasley</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>82</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Crossworks 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. A Choice</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/FeatheryMinx/gifts">FeatheryMinx</a>.</li>



    </ul></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Percy’s life is simple. Straightforward. Uncomplicated.</p><p>He has less than a year left of schooling after today. Then, after his final Reaping, he’ll be snatched up along with Penelope by the Software Design Corps—he has to be, he’s too good to be passed over—and get one step closer to his dream, his <i>goal</i> of being at the forefront of Panem’s tech advancement. Maybe he’ll even be transferred to the Capitol branch. (That’s where the SDC installs everything it designs, of course; there are no moving holographs or VR sets in District Three.)</p><p>The clear-cut outline of his future blurs a little just once a year, on July 4th. District Three isn’t small, and Percy’s chance of being Reaped <i>is</i>. But there’s still a chance, and each year as Ludo Bagman reaches into that swollen glass bowl, Percy feels that chance looming over him, threatening to shatter his dream, his goal, his future, his life into ugly, complicated pieces. Or maybe not so complicated. Death is fairly straightforward, after all.</p><p>He shudders to think of it.</p><p>Bill took tesserae for all of them the moment he was old enough to be entered, and even when Charlie and Percy hit twelve years of age and tried to take tesserae themselves, Bill put his foot down.</p><p>“I’m the oldest,” he said to each of them. Despite the trembling fear in his eyes, his voice was firm. “It’s my job to take care of you.”</p><p>After Bill turned nineteen, Charlie took up the mantle, resolutely forbidding fourteen-year-old Percy from taking a single tessera. Percy protested, but only briefly, and without conviction. He was relieved. <i>Better him than me</i>, he thought.</p><p>The shame burned.</p><p>Last year, Charlie was too old for the Reaping, and Percy took tesserae for the first time. Six for the family to supplement what food they could buy with Bill’s earnings, and two for little Luna Lovegood and her ailing father. Percy was always excellent at math, but that was one addition problem he had no desire to complete. Six plus two plus one is nine. He waited with bated breath for the entire ceremony, heart in his throat, watching, waiting, dreading, hoping, fearing… His name wasn’t called. Percy lived another year, and his family had bread to eat.</p><p>This Reaping, his name is in the bowl seventeen times.</p><p>Percy wakes up with that number curling around his ribs. Seventeen. Seventeen. He pushes aside his threadbare blanket and crawls out of his tiny cot, trying not to wake Charlie, who is curled up and snoring lightly on another cot in the hot, cramped room. The third cot sits empty, waiting for Bill to come back from his assignment in the Capitol.</p><p>Seventeen chances of death. Seventeen portents of doom. Seventeen folded slips of paper reading <i>Percy Weasley</i>. He moves into the narrow washroom and stands in front of the sink that usually doesn’t work. Percy glances at his reflection in the dusty mirror, his face sliced in two and misaligned by the jagged fissure in the glass. Red hair, limp with grease. Freckles dusted over his cheeks and down his pale neck. The glasses that Bill bought in the Capitol after Percy started squinting at signs, bright green and pink but painted black by his giggling mother. The paint is chipping, now; flecks of neon are visible against the faded black.</p><p>He twists the tap. Nothing comes out, not even the murky sputter of water that the faucet can occasionally be put upon to cough out. He’ll have to draw from the well, then.</p><p>It’s early, far earlier than Percy needs to wake up, the sun not yet peeking over the horizon. The Reapings trail the sun, and the ceremony in District Three, which lies on the west coast of Panem, is one of the last to take place, so theoretically they don’t need to wake up early at all. Despite the excusal from work, though, no one sleeps in on Reaping Day. Percy likely has less than an hour to himself before the rest of the house is up and worrying. In that less-than-an-hour, as he scrubs the grease from his hair and the tiredness from his eyes, Percy does plenty of worrying all on his own.</p><p>Seventeen slips of paper.</p><p>That’s not enough for him to be picked, surely? It’s nothing compared to Oliver’s fifty-some entries, and he thinks that some boys probably even have more. Right. Percy is seventeen out of thousands. He just has to make it through two more Reapings, then he’ll be free. He’ll finish schooling, join the SDC, and make a name for himself. He might even earn enough money that Ron and Ginny won’t take tesserae at all. Yes, Percy has nothing to worry about.</p><p>The other members of his family wake in ones and twos, all of them before the sun has fully risen. The house, usually loud when this many Weasleys are in it, is anything but. Fred and George are fiddling with something that clicks and sparks, their usual chatter strained and lacking energy. Percy reprimands them and receives dull glares in return.</p><p>When the sun has finally crept across the sky to the west, marking the late afternoon, Mom gathers them all by the front door and fusses over their appearances. Batting away her hand, Fred bites, “Why does it matter how we look? It’s not like people will care about that if we’re dead.”</p><p>“Fred!” Percy snaps—along with Dad and a few others—as Mom reels.</p><p>“Don’t say that,” Mom says firmly. She resumes straightening Fred’s clothes, tugging more harshly this time. “Never say anything like that ever again, do you hear me?”</p><p>“But it’s true…” Fred looks away, mullish. George hisses at him to stop talking, and Charlie gives Fred a warning stare.</p><p>“You’re <i>not</i> going to die.” Mom looks around, brown eyes hard. “None of you are, if I have anything to say about it.”</p><p>The problem with that, Percy reflects as they walk to the sprawling lot where the Reaping takes place, is that she <i>doesn’t</i> have any sort of say. Just as he thinks this, he feels a small hand slip into his own and looks down to see Ginny’s pale face glancing up at him. Her lip is bleeding; she chews it when she’s anxious.</p><p>“Hello there, Ginny,” Percy says softly, squeezing her hand. If Bill were here, she’d cling to his arm, maybe ride on his back, but Bill isn’t here. He’s off in the Capitol, working out glitches or adding new features to some gaudy citizen’s television set, so Ginny has to cling to Percy instead. Her second choice. Percy shakes off the resentment—there’s no place for it here, not when it’s Ginny’s first Reaping and her hand trembles in his grasp. “Feeling alright?”</p><p>“I’m scared,” Ginny whispers. It hurts to see Ginny like this, brave, brash Ginny who could probably will electrons to flow backwards through a circuit through sheer force of will.</p><p>“Listen,” Percy says, and addresses this in the best way he knows. “There are hundreds of twelve-year-olds with names in the bowl, and your name is only in there once. Statistically, you have less than a one percent chance of being Reaped.” Seeing that Ginny doesn’t look particularly relieved, he adds, “Not even half a percent.”</p><p>Ginny curls her fingers nervously. “That’s… not bad,” she says.</p><p>“Quite right, Ginny.” Percy awkwardly pats her shoulder with his free hand. “So you see, there’s not much you have to worry about.”</p><p>When they arrive just before the ceremony begins, Mom gives each of them a tight hug. She smoothes Percy’s hair. It’s more comforting than he’d like to admit. Percy gives Ginny one last smile that he hopes doesn’t look too forced.</p><p>“This is it, then,” Charlie says, grim. He claps Percy on the back. “Good luck. See you later.”</p><p>“Yes, later,” Percy responds, straightening his glasses and doing his best to appear calm.</p><p>There’s another round of hugs, this time with Dad, and then the children scatter into their respective queues, Ginny pulling her hand from Percy’s with heavy reluctance. They’re all in the section designated for Sector B, so despite being separated by age, Percy can spot each of his family members if he straightens and cranes his neck, even Ginny on the far left where the youngest children are.</p><p>The governor of District Three has no real power—his every action strictly regulated by Lieutenant General Malfoy—but he looks calm and self-assured as he takes the stage. The giant screen behind him projects his face out to the audience.</p><p>“Welcome, dear friends,” says Governor Dumbledore. His robes are a shade of blue so lurid that Percy thinks he could almost be mistaken for a Capitol citizen. It’s the brightest spot of color in the lot. The governor’s long white beard flutters in the slight breeze as he regales the audience with the story of origin of the Hunger Games. Percy has heard this speech many times before, but he still pays full attention.</p><p>“Excellent, excellent,” Ludo says, almost before Governor Dumbledore has finished speaking. He plucks the microphone from the governor’s hand. “A wonderful speech. Yes, the history of the Hunger Games is very illustrious, very illustrious indeed. Ahem. As many of you know, my name is Ludo Bagman, and I am District Three’s escort! I’ve seen many tributes come and go, some more successful than others, and I am delighted to see two more this year. Oh, but enough of my rambling, and on to the most exciting part—what you’ve all been waiting for—the Reaping for the 57th Hunger Games!” He spreads his arms and gazes expectantly down at the crowd.</p><p>The crowd reluctantly applauds, subdued air never lifting.</p><p>Ludo looks pleased. “Now, it’s always been ladies first, and who am I to break tradition?” He strides over to one of the enormous glass bowls on the stage and rubs his hands together before reaching in. “District Three’s first tribute is…”</p><p><i>Please let it be a name I don’t recognize</i>, Percy thinks desperately as Ludo pauses for dramatic effect. <i>Let it be Jane, Mary, Katrina, Lucille, Bella, let it be anything but</i>—</p><p>“Ginevra Weasley!”</p><p>“NO!” someone shouts. Fred, or maybe George. Percy is too busy searching frantically for Ginny over in the cluster of twelve-year-old girls to figure out who. He finds her—a dot of vermillion in a sea of brown and blonde. Percy can’t see her expression, but she must be terrified.</p><p>“Ginevra Weasley?” Ludo repeats as no one immediately comes forward. His wide smile falters a bit. Then someone must have nudged Ginny up, for the vermillion dot lurches forward, then slowly moves towards the stage. As Ginny ascends the first step, Percy catches a glimpse of her ashy, wide-eyed face, frozen with fear. Ludo’s grin returns. “Ah, here she is! Ginevra, let’s hope you’re as fiery as your hair, eh?”</p><p>Ginny climbs the last of the steps to the stage and stands there, silent. Percy thinks he can see her legs shaking. Ludo chuckles awkwardly and pats her on the shoulder. “Overwhelmed with excitement, are you? No worries, no worries, it’s a once in a lifetime opportunity, after all. Shall we—?”</p><p>“You Capitol bastard!” bursts out from within the crowd of spectators, and there is a brief commotion as the Peacekeepers order Fred—or possibly George—to quiet down.</p><p>“I see we’re getting a bit impatient,” Ludo says with a laugh, adjusting one of the neon feathers on his hat.</p><p>Percy barely pays attention, his heart slamming against his ribs, his eyes frozen on Ginny’s frightened face. She is skinny and white-faced and very, very small. None of her brothers can save her. It looms over him then, dark and inexorable, the truth, the axe: Ginny will die.</p><p>Beaming, Ludo says, “Let’s move on, then. The male tribute…”</p><p><i>I need to do something!</i> Percy thinks in a panic. But what? He’s male—he can’t volunteer to take her place, and neither can any of his brothers. There is no way to stop Ginny from being killed.</p><p>
  <i>This is how things are.</i>
</p><p>“Evren Clearwater!”</p><p><i>But Penelope</i>, Percy thinks. Then— <i>Oh.</i></p><p>Percy looks at Ginny, stubborn little Ginny standing on the Reaping stage and trying to be brave. He looks behind him at Fred and George, the former glaring hatred at a Peacekeeper whose armored hand grips his shoulder, and at Ron and Charlie and Mom and Dad, at their horrified, waxy faces, and he looks at himself. He thinks of the Software Design Corps, of lines and lines of elegant code, of blue-light screens and tiny text, of recognition, of <i>respect</i>.</p><p>He wants it, craves it, dreams of it. It’s Percy’s utmost goal, has all but been his driving force in life since he was four feet tall, and even the thought of giving it up sends a jolt of <i>Nonono</i><i><b>never—!</b></i> screaming through his head. It’s the only thing in the entire world that’s <i>his</i>. But…</p><p>None of it matters. Not as much as Ginny.</p><p>Given a choice between himself and her, Percy knows who his family would choose. It stings, but not too much—he’d make the exact same decision, after all. They won't miss him as much as they would anyone else, he thinks wildly, heart thundering. If anyone has to go, if anyone has to take this slim, horrible chance to save Ginny—it should be him.</p><p>The choice is simple. Straightforward. Uncomplicated.</p><p>He cries, “I volunteer!”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thank you so much for reading! I was pretty nervous about posting, but I hope you enjoyed it :D</p><p>There is a second chapter, which doesn't proceed chronologically and instead shows a glimpse of the past.</p><p>&lt;3 &lt;3 &lt;3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. A Memory</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Three years or so before that terrible Reaping, the twins embark on a mischievous adventure to prank a Peacekeeper. Ron and Ginny happily join the brigade, but Percy is <i>not</i> just about to let his siblings go and land themselves in trouble. Somehow, they manage it anyway.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“You can’t put that <i>there</i>.”</p><p>“Yes, I can.”</p><p>“You can’t, Ginny, give it here—”</p><p>“No, it’s mine! And I <i>can</i> put it here, watch—!”</p><p>There’s a screeching noise and a burst of sparks, then the two children emerge a little dustier but unharmed, Ginny looking disgruntled, Ron smug.</p><p>“I told you it wouldn’t work,” he says.</p><p>Ginny opens her mouth to deliver an undoubtedly scathing reply, but Percy speaks over her: “Ron, Ginny, don’t play with that thing near the beds; you might set them on fire at this rate. Really, you should know better.”</p><p>“We’re not playing, we’re <i>building</i>,” Ginny corrects with a huff. Percy restrains a dubious comment as he glances at the robotic doll she’s been trying to cobble together for days.</p><p>“What are you doing here, anyway?” Ron grumbles. “This isn’t even your room.”</p><p>In fact, it’s the bedroom that Ron and Ginny share with the twins: a small square-ish room with four cots, three thin blankets, and not much else. A grimy window that has proudly resisted Mom’s scrubbing lets in a dim wash of light.</p><p>“Paperwork,” Percy says succinctly. Then, less succinctly, “for the software engineering track, of course. The school expects me to complete all the necessary papers myself. After these have been filed, I will be officially enrolled in the track and begin training for the SDC.”</p><p>The reason he’s doing the paperwork in <i>this</i> room is to keep an eye on his siblings, who can cause trouble given two minutes and a roll of copper wire. The twins are huddled whispering in the corner, suspiciously quiet, but Percy can’t see any telltale sparks—so they’re actually doing better than Ron and Ginny in that regard. Wonder of wonders indeed.</p><p>“Right,” Ron says, rolling his eyes. “Thanks for telling us—I almost forgot since two hours ago.”</p><p>“You asked,” Percy says, stung.</p><p>Ginny has drifted over to where Percy sits against the wall and stands over him, peering at the sheaf of papers propped against his legs. “We’re District Three,” she says. “Why did they give you <i>paper</i>work?”</p><p>“The Capitol can’t spare a single byte for anything that’s not theirs, don’t you know?” Ron bites out before Percy can reply. “We aren’t even allowed to have <i>this</i>.” He nudges the scrap-metal doll with his foot, to Ginny’s displeasure.</p><p>“That’s just the way things are, Ron,” Percy says sharply. “Complaining won’t do anything about it.”</p><p>“That’s right, Perce!” Fred exclaims, throwing himself into the conversation.</p><p>“There’s no point in groaning about it,” George agrees.</p><p>“Or grouching—”</p><p>“Or grousing!”</p><p>“Grumbling—”</p><p>“Grizzling—”</p><p>“Griping—”</p><p>George pauses with his mouth half-open, clearly scouring his lexicon, then gives it up as a lost cause and forges on: “Indeed, young Ronnie, there are <i>far</i> better ways to showcase your, uh, imperfect admiration of the great Capitol.”</p><p>The twins sweep grandly over to Ron, who’s sitting on his cot, and perch on either side of him like lanky ginger-haired vultures.</p><p>“You two had better not be planning anything stupid,” Percy warns, despite knowing it’s too much to ask for.</p><p>“On the contrary,” Fred declares, “it’s brilliant!”</p><p>“Not stupid at all,” George says sagely, nodding as he leans into Ron’s side. “Well… maybe just a tad.”</p><p>“Geroff!” Ron snaps. He makes a valiant attempt to shove George away, but George simply wraps his arms around Ron and squeezes. “Ow, stop that—!”</p><p>“What’s your idea?” Ginny asks, eagerly hopping over a cot to peer down at the knot of brothers.</p><p>Percy’s eyes narrow as he sets down the sheaf of papers.</p><p>George gives a meaningful cough. Fred shoots a sly glance at Percy and whispers loudly, “Not here—President Percy might try to foil our dastardly plot.”</p><p>“To the secret lair!” George cries, leaping up and brandishing a finger.</p><p>Fred and George haul Ron—who looks interested despite himself—to his feet and skip towards the door, Ginny following behind. Percy heaves a deep sigh.</p><p>“Come back here!” he calls. When, predictably, there is no response as the four children dash away giggling, he climbs up and hurries after them. His forms will have to wait.</p><p>His siblings move quickly, and by the time Percy catches up to them, they’re scrambling over the rotting wooden fence surrounding an empty house nearby and darting inside. Percy rubs his forehead in frustration as he watches them disappear into its dilapidated frame. Will there ever be a day, he wonders, when he won’t have to wrangle the resultant messes of his siblings’ rash decisions? Gingerly, he swings a leg over the fence and hops down to the other side. Then, dreading what he might find his siblings doing inside, he ventures into the house.</p><p>“Ginny?” he calls. “George, Fred, Ron?”</p><p>The house is made of wood, and the years have not been kind to it. The structure is still intact—for how much longer, Percy wonders—but there are holes in the walls and places where the floorboards have simply fallen in, allowing any intrepid visitors to peer down into the dark basement. Percy picks his way around the gaps.</p><p>“Fred? George? I swear, if you—”</p><p>“<i>Your hair is as sleek as a hologram,<br/>
How I long to caress it with my hands.<br/>
Your skin is as soft as a fresh spring clover,<br/>
I want to touch and kiss it all over.</i>”</p><p>Percy gapes in shock and whirls about in an attempt to find the source of the singing. “Wha—” The voice, tinny and distorted, continues:</p><p>“<i>Your voice is as deep as the ocean,<br/>
It soothes and smoothes me like lotion.<br/>
Your hands can heft and are so deft<br/>
I’ve got no more composure left.</i>”</p><p>Even warped and coming through what sounds like a low quality speaker, the voice is unmistakable.</p><p>“GEORGE!” Percy bellows.</p><p>“<i>Admiring your legs is so easy,<br/>
I’ll break them so that you can’t leave me.</i>”</p><p>“Calm down, Perce.” Fred appears on an overhead balcony, the rest of the entourage filing out behind him. “Don’t you like our song?”</p><p>“I put my whole heart into it,” George says, straight-faced.</p><p>“<i>Your eyes are like shiny grey lead,<br/>
I’ll keep them in a jar by my bed.</i>”</p><p>Percy notices that the supports holding up the balcony are rotting like the rest of the house, and one has even collapsed completely. A jolt of terror runs through him. “Get down from there right now!”</p><p>“Come on, Percy,” Ron complains. “You never let us do anything.”</p><p>“Well, it is Percy, after all,” Fred sighs dramatically. “He would keel over and die if he willingly allowed any <i>fun</i> to happen.”</p><p>“<i>Your sneer is as bright as the sun</i>—”</p><p>“Get down,” Percy shouts, frantic. “I am not joking!”</p><p>Ginny pushes her way to the railing and sticks out her tongue. “No.”</p><p>A sickly-looking support under the balcony creaks ominously. Percy wants to tear out his hair. “I’m serious—NOW!” Seeing that none of his siblings are about to follow his direction, Percy wracks his mind desperately for something that would make them listen. “Come down here right now, or I’ll—I’ll tell a Peacekeeper that you’ve been stealing from the factory!”</p><p>The reaction is immediate: exclamations, cursing, and deadly glares. Percy grits his teeth, but all four of them begin to move reluctantly towards the staircase, so he considers it a job well done.</p><p>
  <i>KRRRKK.</i>
</p><p>Now <i>that</i> creak is so loud that no one could have possibly missed it, even with all the whining and bellyaching. The four children fall quiet, sending wary looks at the floor beneath their feet.</p><p>“Al—alright, maybe Percy has got the right idea,” Ron says nervously. The children hurry down the groaning staircase, one after another. It’s a winding, spiraling thing, laying itself across half the room. It probably used to be grand and impressive, but now it’s merely rickety. Very rickety. As they—Ron, then behind him Fred, then George and Ginny—near the base of the stairs, the wood screeches angrily and begins to shake.</p><p>“Hurry!” Percy shouts. Just when Ron reaches the bottom, where Percy is anxiously waiting, the wooden supports finally give way. The stairs come crashing down with them—Fred, two steps up, topples face-first onto flat ground. George yelps; Ginny shrieks as the staircase drops underneath their feet. It’s only about five feet to the floor, but dust and debris rise up upon impact and Percy can’t see them at all for a brief, heart-stopping moment.</p><p>Then the smoke clears and George is pulling Ginny up from the wreckage and Ginny is batting away his hand in annoyance and Fred is sighing, “Whew, Sampson is intact,” and everything is alright again.</p><p>But—</p><p>“Who’s Sampson?” demands Percy. “No, never mind that—what on <i>earth</i> were you all thinking?”</p><p>“Here he goes,” Ron mutters.</p><p>Percy ignores him with the ease of righteousness and long practice. “That was so incredibly stupid, and moronic, and idiotic, and—and—you could have <i>died!</i> I was right, I <i>told</i> you all to come down and you didn’t listen! You—you—you—”</p><p>He wants to keep yelling at them, but he can’t find adequate words to convey the full force of the emotions he’s feeling. Percy stands there with his fists curled so tightly it hurts, red clouding his vision, breaths shuddering in and out of his lungs.</p><p>Something, at least, seems to register. “Look, Percy,” George says slowly, “we’re sorry, alright? We should have listened to you.”</p><p>Ron and Ginny echo the apology with abashed looks. Fred looks like the last thing he wants to do is to apologize to <i>Percy</i> of all people, but he relents and follows suit with a sharp elbow nudge from George.</p><p>Percy sighs, suddenly exhausted. “Well. I’m glad you see the error of your ways. <i>Please</i>, take this as a lesson for the future. Come on—let’s go home.” As they file out the door, his eye catches on the metal contraption that George is trying unsuccessfully to hide behind his back. “What’s that?”</p><p>“Nothing,” George says quickly.</p><p>Percy gives him a flat stare.</p><p>“It’s the singing robot they were going to use to prank a Peacekeeper,” Ron tattles.</p><p>“Ron!” Fred cries.</p><p>“What?” Ron scowls and crosses his arms. “It’s not like you wouldn’t have ended up telling him anyway. Or Mom.”</p><p>“Yeah, he already saw it,” Ginny points out, rolling her eyes then darting forward to snatch the robot from George’s hands—it’s not much more than a small grey box with an antenna and wheels. So <i>that’s</i> what was playing that godawful song earlier. Percy hasn’t seen it around the house; the twins must have been keeping it in the abandoned building. Ginny holds it up triumphantly and flicks a switch on the side of the box. The first lines of George’s… ballad… warble out into the air.</p><p>“Fine, fine,” George says, and takes the robot back. “And Sampson’s a ‘him’, not an ‘it’.”</p><p>“That’s right,” Fred joins in, seemingly recovered from Ron’s betrayal. He pats the robot’s head with a proud grin. “Robots are people too, even if Sampson needs a remote to move around. His little ditty’s about old Carrow—you know, the black-haired one who always hangs around by the school?”</p><p>Percy does know, actually. Amycus Carrow, one of Sector B’s nastier Peacekeepers, makes a habit of sneering and occasionally spitting at every student who enters the school building—Percy tries to avoid him.</p><p>“We were <i>going</i> to send Sampson to sing him a lovely tune,” Fred continues with a disgruntled look.</p><p>George clears his throat, obviously prepared to state his case for continuing with the plan.</p><p>“Not happening,” Percy says immediately. “Give that here.”</p><p>“If you’re going to kidnap Sampson, at least call him by his name,” George says disappointedly, reluctantly handing over the robot—handing over Sampson.</p><p>“Right,” Percy says. “<i>Sampson</i> will not be serenading anyone else today, or ever, if I have anything to say about it. What if Carrow discovered it was you two who did it and reported you?”</p><p>Of course, the twins have plenty to say to this, and they whine and cajole as the group heads away from the empty house, but Percy is unmoving and they eventually give up. Percy knows them well enough to suspect that they haven’t really dropped the issue, but he considers it good enough for now.</p><p>Ginny peeks up at him from where she’s walking by his side. “You wouldn’t really have told the Peacekeepers, right?”</p><p>“Of course not!” Percy exclaims, appalled. He’s seen a man be beaten <i>half to death</i> by a Peacekeeper for stealing materials, albeit rare minerals and not the bits of scrap metal that Ginny and the twins took. He only threatened to tell in order to get them to listen. “Did you think I would?”</p><p>“Well.” Ginny shrugs a little and looks down at the worn pavement. “I think the others thought you would have, but I wasn’t sure. I mean… you’re stuck up and nosy, yeah, but you’re still <i>Percy</i>.”</p><p>“Thanks,” Percy says dryly. Ginny gives him a cheeky smile, and Percy is struck with the sudden urge to hug her. Well, why not? He leans down and yanks her into a tight embrace, ignoring the dirt happily leaping from her clothes to his.</p><p>“Hlrrbbfs—Percy?” Ginny is still for a second, but then she leans into the hug and wraps her scrawny arms around his waist. It’s nice despite Sampson dangling awkwardly from Percy’s hand, and now that he thinks of it he should really do this more often.</p><p>“Ahem,” Percy coughs, letting go and straightening his glasses, which are already straight. “Excuse me for that.”</p><p>“No! No, it’s okay,” Ginny reassures him. “Just unexpected. You haven’t… hugged me in a long time.”</p><p>And there’s the guilt. “I’m sorry,” Percy says quietly as they walk to catch up with the others. He didn’t realize how much he’s been swallowed up by his software engineering dream, to the point of pulling away from everything else—his own family included. He’s not Bill or even Charlie; he can’t be the perfect big brother. But… he could have done better.</p><p>“It’s okay,” Ginny repeats, earnest. Then she pokes him hard in the arm. “But I command you to give me more hugs from now on!”</p><p>“Oh, alright,” Percy agrees, smiling down on her. Warmth suffuses his chest.</p><p>“Actually, give me another one <i>right now</i>.” Ginny all but tackles him and wraps her arms firmly around his torso.</p><p>“GROUP HUG!” Fred hollers, and a weight slams into Percy from behind, sending him and Ginny staggering. It’s only Fred’s iron grip that prevents them from pitching to the ground.</p><p>George yells, “Don’t squish Sampson!” but attaches himself to the side of the off-balance clump a moment later, laughing.</p><p>“You two—” Percy starts threateningly.</p><p>Ginny digs her bony fingers into his side. “Shut up and enjoy the hug,” she orders. “Ron, get over here.”</p><p>“What, so I can get crushed?” Ron grumbles, but obligingly sidles over and is dragged into the huddle.</p><p>“We’re in the middle of the road,” Percy says into Ron’s hair.</p><p>“<i>You’re</i> in the middle of the road,” George retorts.</p><p>“Shut <i>up</i>,” Ginny says, fingers launching another offensive. “Enjoy the hug.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Again, thanks for reading! Comments are appreciated (♡ &gt;ω&lt; ♡)</p><p>Oh, and I didn't mention it last chapter, but sorry if the use of "Mom" instead of "Mum" was jarring for you—it certainly was for me. It felt very wrong, but this fic <i>is</i> set in what is essentially the United States. So... ┐(´～｀)┌</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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